


Jafar enslaves Prime Minister Jasmine of the Feminist Republic of Agrabah

by jbs073



Category: Aladdin - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Politics, F/M, Harems, Humiliation, Public Humiliation, Sexual Politics, Sexual Slavery, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-03-19 19:45:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18977137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jbs073/pseuds/jbs073
Summary: The Jafar-Jasmine slave scene from Aladdin set in modern times with Agrabah as a modern Middle Eastern nation in conflict between Feminists lead by Prime Minister Jasmine and traditionalists lead by Vizier Jafar. Jafar leads a coup and civil war against Jasmine's revolutionary feminist ideas and is able to capture and enslave her. Jasmine tries to stay loyal to her ideas despite it. The idealistic intellectual political activist women who supported Prime Minister Jasmine's feminist reforms are reduced to being erotically enslaved political prisoners inside Sultan Jafar's harem of misogyny.





	1. The fall of the Feminist Republic of Agrabah

Jasmine had been elected the first woman Prime Minister of Agrabah on a platform of women’s rights and equality. This was not something the traditionalist theocratic Middle Eastern nation had been used to. But the time for change had come. The former Vizier Jafar had led the opposition of the conservative fundamentalist Islamist clergy. They were outraged by Prime Minister Jasmine’s crimes against the natural order. They hated seeing the beautiful young woman in a pantsuit leading their sacred emirate. She was transforming Agrabah into a Feminist Republic.

Jafar had been able to secure a meeting with Prime Minister Jasmine of Agrabah. She had not wanted to meet with the misogynist cleric, but he represented powerful Agrabah interests so she could not ignore him.

“We are a traditional people Princess, these Feminist ideas of equality have no place in Agrabah. We want to live how our grandfathers lived. This is how its always been” Jafar began to lecture her

“Don’t call me Princess. I’m your Prime Minister”.

“Prime Minister is a western infidel title, not proper for a proper Agrabah lady such as yourself. I know you come from one of the finest Agrabah bloodlines. The daughter of Sultans. Princess is so much more suited to a woman of your power and status”.

“What do you want Jafar?”

“You know how the traditionalist fundamentalist clergy have had problems with your feminist cultural reforms and socialist land reform? Perhaps there could be peace in Agrabah if you would at least choose a suitor. An unmarried young woman leading our Emirate. It is too much for our Old Sheiks. It is bad enough that your political polices turn Agrabah upside down. You don’t need to spit in the face of the old men with your personal life as well”.

“How dare you. It is not the Middle Ages anymore not even in Agrabah! I’m not some royal princess for the Sultan to marry off for gold. Those ages have passed. I’m a progressive Feminist Prime Minister and I will bring Agrabah into the modern age. It is disgusting that who I’m to share a bed with, sleep with, and make love with is even a topic of political discussion”.

“My dear Princess...ahhh Prime Minister Jasmine, I did mean anything so intimate and lewd. It is simply hard for our Agrabah people to accept a married young woman as leader. On top of everything else. We are a traditional people. We like the old ways. We followed the El Khalizad, the old books of Almazareesh. The manuals of Abdul. It laid down the ways of women. How the feminine essence must serve the masculine….”

“Enough Jafar! If the Agrabah people really felt this way, they would not have elected me Prime Minister. You talk of the old men. We are a nation of young women too! And I lead for them. You dare mention books like the Alzashad in my presence? It says that uppity women like me need to be whipped and spanked into submission to please the Old Gods of the Hazarad. Is that what you wish for Jafar? To spank your Prime Minister? Get the hell out of my office”.

“You will regret this severely Princess” Jafar scowled. “You could have been a Princess. But I see now you are fit to be nothing but a slave as Al Shameth advised. You laugh at it as a joke. But mark my words you will kneel in chains. This is still Agrabah. This is how uppity women have always been dealt with. I don’t care if this is the ‘modern age’. The old ways have always ruled her in our desert.”

This was the last political meeting Prime Minister Jasmine and Vizier Jafar would have to have. Until the coup and civil war. The traditionalist Islamists in the military were troubled by the rapid rate of Jasmine’s feminist and socialist reforms. Her economic policies anger the traditional Islamic clergy and their large landholdings. But her Feminist policies were even more invasive in their eyes. Making their own wives and daughters uppity against them. It was so personal, inside the family. Every uppity woman was blamed on Prime Minister Jasmine personally. Jafar was able to united the various factions against Jasmine. Making rabble-rousing speeches against her Marxist-Feminist Revolution and warning of the spread of Communism to Agrabah. He claimed that Jasmine’s end goal was a Feminist Communist Republic of Agrabah. Of radical equality, with young women imposing a dictatorship over men and pushing them around.

The military attempted to seize power in a coup. But Prime Minister Jasmine showed my courage and heart then they had expected in a woman. While the Jafarists seized the Agrabah countryside with great rapidity, she was able to keep control of the urban center, where the more educated intellectual people lived. She created legions of Agrabah Feminist Amazon warriors, made completely out of young women soldiers. She made fiery speeches promising never to surrender. But after a decisive battle Jafar was able to encircle and capture the entire Amazon legion. He knew how personally Jasmine felt about her warrior sisters. He threatened them with horrible abuse and torture if Jasmine did not surrender. Had the military situation been better, perhaps Jasmine would have kept her promise to fight to the death. But with Agrabah city on the verge of falling anyway, she decided to spare her sisters the horrible fate.

With tears in her eyes Prime Minister Jasmine made her last speech to the Feminist Senate of Agrabah admitting that further resistance was futile. A gloating smiling Vizier Jafar stood at her side. The Feminist Republic of Agrabah was no more, the Emirate Patriarchy had been restored. Armed Jafarists now stormed into the Feminist Senate hall.

Lead by Prime Minister Jasmine herself, all the Feminist Senators had to strip off their professional pantsuits down to their bra and panties underwear. Jasmine was so humiliated to strip off her pants in a place she had made her name as a politician, and made promises of radical equality for women. Now this would be the place she became a slave to Jafar and his backward misogynist medieval ways. He would take Agrabah back into the Dark Ages. A country that had once known a Feminist Republic would now be put under the strictest misogyny of the Al Hazard slave manual for training women.

After only a week of slave-training in Jafar’s harem, Prime Minister Jasmine could feel the strains on her body, mind and heart. Many of her Feminist sisters had already broken under the whip and erotic humiliation. Politicians, revolutionaries, militants, guerrillas, soldiers, intellectuals, teachers, professors, philosophers. The best women of Agrabah. All had begun to break under the strain. To accept their new place in life as love slaves to Jafar. To accept the traditional place of Agrabah women of 1000 years ago.

“It pains me to see you reduced to this Princess” Jafar said mockingly as he spit the apple right into Jasmine’s beautiful tearful face

Her chained hands offered him the apple. She hated playing the role of a slave. But just a week of slave-training had taught her to pick her battles. It wasn’t worth a whipping to preserve the small dignities.

Slave Lingerie was an act of cruel brilliance on the part of Jafar. It was hard for the Feminist Revolutionaries to maintain dignity, while dressed in the most erotic outfits imaginable. Their unmentionables permanently exposed. After being stripped of the rather boring plain white bra and panties they wore under their pantsuits. The Feminist politicians had been forced into luscious lingerie. It was their only choice rather than going nude. Only a wanton whore would want to be naked in front of her captors. So of course all the ex-rebels put on their slave lingerie. They wanted their intimate private parts covered. But slave lingerie had a way of accentuating revealing rather than concealing their beautiful feminine bodies. The lovely bodies they had kept hidden under pantsuits and military uniforms to be taken seriously as Revolutionary Feminists.

Just as Jasmine was reflecting on the power of slave lingerie to psychologically break rebel women, the thought crossed the cruel Jafar’s mind as well.

“I believe my dear slave Princess, that Red slave lingerie suits you. The Red Flag of the Feminist Socialist Republic. Perhaps you wish to take off the Red panties shielding your most intimate treasure, and wave it as your Red Communist flag? The only flag you will now know. Don’t you want to wave your red panties flag of feminist revolution?”

Jasmine’s hazel eyes glowed with a fiery red anger as red as her lingerie and spanked butt cheeks.

“You’ve destroyed everything I’ve ever believed in, crushed my ideas and hopes, killed my loved ones. Haven’t you hurt me enough? Now you must play these games to hurt and humiliate me. Why didn’t you just kill me?”

“Kill you my dear? Why you are my Princess , Jasmine. You will marry me and be my Princess and bare me many children. And the Jasmine lineage will rule the restored and traditional patriarchal Agrabah loyal the Old Ways. Who needed all your revolutionary feminism? Being a woman is not so bad is it now? Even when you lose, and lose bad. Are utterly crushed and defeated. Unlike a man, your story does not end in a simple death. You can still rise to be a harem mistress. A Princess. Your children can still live like royalty. This is ‘defeat’ for a beautiful woman”

“But my ideals!”

“Women have no ideals. As the Al Shabul of 1000 years ago already knew, you live to surrender. But your bloodline always live on in defeat”.

Jasmine pouted and bit her lip. She was furious. But her cute insolent pouting looked adorable to Jafar.

“This isn’t exactly the best conditions to be having a philosophical debate about Feminism vs Islamic Patriarch is it now Jafar? With me chained, whipped, abused, half naked standing in my underwear and you the absolute ruler of me and Agrabah. You refused all my challenges to debate me as an equal back when I had my pantsuit on.”

Jasmine had finished her little defiant speech with a glow of arrogance, quickly followed by a face of fear as she recovered her dignity. She hadn’t shown such open defiance in days. But Jafar knew how to meddle the Feminist revolutionary in her to rebel. Sometimes he deliberately baited her into revolution, so that he could sadistically crush her, adding to her humiliation. Sometimes he played along in debating her. Her being chained and in slave lingerie always put a damper on the Feminist side of the debate.

He began to slowly approach the chained Feminist Revolutionary slave. She winced in her chains not sure what was coming next.

She received a hard kiss as his snake-like tongue invaded her Feminist Prime Minister soft warm mouth. Biting hard down on her red revolutionary lips. He cupped and squeezed her red-panty clad buttocks. Also red skinned from all the whippings and spankings.

Jasmine’s mind was overwhelmed by the twin invasions. The kissing was so intimate and humiliating. And her buttocks besides the erotic implications, exploded in pain at the rough squeezing. The whipping scars had not begun to heel. She couldn’t help it and cried out in pain.

“Is something wrong Jasmine” asked Jafar in mock concern, delighting in getting the enslaved Feminist Revolutionary to talk about her abused butt.

“You know it hurts me down there” she said weakly.

“You asked me to just kill you earlier” boasted Jafar mockingly “you know many of my advisors have told me to do so. They think you are still a danger. A revolutionary marxist-feminist threat to Agrabah Patriarchy. A symbol, a rallying cry. As long as Jasmine remains alive, you are dangerous, they say. You will lead the Communist Feminist Revolution that unseats the Emirate.”

Jasmine’s face blushed as red as her “flag” as she was reminded of the threat she was supposed to be to the man dominating her in every possible way.

“What do you say slave? Are you still a threat to me, when you have to beg me not to grab your thong-clad arse too hard, as the scars of my whip are still healing?”


	2. Jasmine's Security chief puts cameras in her showers

Colonel Hakim the head of Prime Minister Jasmine’s own security palace team had betrayed his sworn leader at the decisive moment during her hour of need. The Agrabah Civil War had not been going good for the Feminists. Despite initially being able to keep the Jafari coup to the conservative countryside, his forces had slowly cutoff and strangled the progressive city. As Jafari forces slowly stormed into the city in heavy block by block fighting. Jasmine had been ready to compromise a peace and even a capitulation. But the now world famous mass stripping of the last session of the Feminist Senate could never have taken place had Hakim’s security detail not betrayed her and seized the Senate opening the door the Jafaris outside. 

The relationship between the young Prime Minister and Hakim the head of her security forces had always been tense. Hakim was not used to his new boss and never in his life had he taken orders from a woman. And not just a woman, but a Feminist who wore her womanhood on her sleeve and was determined to bring Agrabah into a new era of egalitarianism. 

“You make yourself a target by dressing in those western infidel suits m’lady” Hakim had tried to warn her as diplomatically as possible. He had said infidel instead of whore. 

But Jasmine did not take kindly to his tact. 

“Hakim, you are my head of security not my fashion adviser. If I wanted you to be modeling dressed for me, I would have asked.” 

Hakim was mortified and enraged at how she had turned it around to emasculate him. 

“Agrabah is a conservative Muslim country, by not wearing a veil you are inciting an Islamist Revolution against the Republic” Hakim warned darkly “as head of internal security, that is my business”. 

The guards Razoul, Fazahl, Hakim and Zagoolien all hated and despised “the Princess” as they called her. For a socialist and progressive she played the role of a young spoiled brat around the hired help. Typical hypocrisy fumed Hakim. She was like a woman from a different century in Agrabah there to disturb their medieval lives. 

“You don’t know Agrabah” Jasmine had finger wavingly lectured her guards. Agrabah is more than the countryside and the Mosques. It is a vibrant, cosmopolitan, commercial city. A window on the world. It could be a new Venice. A free republic. 

“Venice was an infidel Christian city that made war on Islam” fumed Razoul. 

“And it was a merchant republic of oligarchs” added Jasmine “But it was progressive for its time. And that part of it Agrabah can learn from. Just because we are Arab doesn’t mean it has to be night forever. I see a dawning in the Arab world, which the Republic of Agrabah, under my leadership can lead”. 

Hakim rudely spit on the floor “Bah, Arabian days are hotter than hot. At least in Arabian nights one can breathe. In this desert the rising of the sun isn’t something I look forward to.” 

As much as he despised Jasmine as a Red Feminist infidel. And hated her as a spoiled brat princess employer boss. Like any man, Hakim was charmed, seduced, lusted by Jasmine’s incredible beauty. Seeing her standing with such power in her smart light blue business suit. She was unlike any woman Hakim had encountered in the traditional parts of Agrabah. Her beauty intoxicated him. As much as he wanted to complain about the impropriety of those times he a man was alone in a room with an unescorted young woman, the thought titillated him. 

He began installing HD cameras in all Jasmine’s rooms and her shower. Yes her shower. Watching her wash and soap those luscious bouncy tan breasts. He was an officer and a man of honor. But here he was acting like a teen voyeur perv. A peeping tom. No it wasn’t like that. He was just doing his job as head of security. No he hated her. That bitch Marxist-Feminist. Revolutionizing Agrabah. Putting women on top of men. Upending the natural order. Turning the entire world upside down. She was an evil uppity cunt, and she deserved the humiliation of being watched like this. Of being lusted over like a piece of meat, whatever that feminist intellectual brain inside her head told her she was. Watching her shampoo that shiny black hair. And her other hairs. 

He had thought of exactly what he’d say in his defense if she caught him. Their confrontation playing out in his mind. 

“How dare you Hakim! You sick pervert. So this is the traditional religious man who didn’t want to see me in suits. You sure wanted to see under my suit didn’t you? You want me veiled so you can’t see my face. You wanted to see everything else.” 

“My mistress, I was just trying to protect you. There are so many threats against you”. 

And then he would play on the Leftist Feminist intellectual’s knowledge of revolutionary history 

“As you know sister-comrade, the great Jacobin Revolutionary Marat was stabbed in his bath tub by that counterrevolutionary young woman. I was merely afraid of the reverse playing itself out in Agrabah. Of our great Jacobin Revolutionary Jasmine being in turn stabbed by a man as she bathed”. 

It was a nice dialectical reversal the revolutionary man stabbed in his bath by the young woman, the revolutionary young woman stabbed in her bath by the man. 

He wasn’t sure if Jasmine would have bought it. He probably would have been sacked anyway. But at least instead of being embarrassed if caught, he would be able to do some verbal swordplay with her, and put her on the defensive. Why should he fear her? He had seen her naked so many times. Watched her getting dressed every single morning. He felt that it stripped away all her haughty arrogant dignity as Feminist firebrand to see her uncovered underneath. 

At the earliest opportunity Hakim struck a deal with the advancing Jafaris, being promised an internal security position in the new theocracy. He played a decisive role during the famous mass stripping of Feminists at the Agrabah Senate Hall. It would become a holding cell for Feminist political prisoners in the weeks after the Jafari triumph. 

And now all the HD internal security footage that Hakim provided Jafar would play a critical role in contributing to her mental breaking. Jafar would have a panoramic 360 3D view of the rise and fall of Jasmine. He would have all her public speeches as Prime Minister as well as her private life inside the palace.


	3. Jasmine's whole life on big screen

Standing as far as her humiliating slave chain would allow Prime Minister Jasmine stretched her neck to look outside the window of the Agrabah palace. The angry black blue of the sky seemed to reflect the mood in her soul and of her Cause. The wind kicked up sandstorms in a wild flurry. As if Agrabah truly was cutoff from the outside world. As if her fate since the fall of the Feminist Republic was just some hazy erotic nightmare. A nightmare that’s what this was. This didn’t seem like something that could happen in the modern political sphere. How could Jasmine have ever imagined that her political career her attempt to bring Agrabah into the 21st century would end as some strange dreamlike erotic fantasy? A nightmare fantasy. It just hadn’t computed in her mind. She had been prepared to be a martyr for her cause. To die heroically on the barricades for the feminist revolution. Capture was a risk she had braved. She knew as both the leader of their hated political enemies and a beautiful young women she had faced a special sexual vulnerability if ever captured by these misogynist brutes. But she had never expected to be dressed in slave lingerie. To be a victim to all of Jafar’s cruel and erotic mindgames. Trying to turn her tragic political defeat into a dirty filthy kinky porno.

 

A harsh tug at her chains interrupted her reverie. Feminist intellectuals were no longer allowed to think in her former capital; now Jafar’s pleasure palace of enslaved feminists.

“You need not fear the storms anymore, Jasmine my sweet kitten” Jafar said in a mocking superior tone of a Master to his pet

 

Jasmine gave him that pout of defeated humiliation, with just a hint of internal defiance that she had come to master. That invited abuse if Jafar was in the mood, but gave her a small moral victory if he relented. Some victory if it was just the mercy of his whim. But Jasmine would take what she could get. A tiny spark in body language. A volcano of fiery hatred in her soul bubbling to the surface in just a cute bratty princess pout.

 

The strategic chess game she played as a lingerie slave was once again interrupted by Jafar as he continued with his gloatingly villainous monologue.

 

“My desert rose you will never see the outside of this palace again, and you need not concern yourself with it. The world outside can all burn, and all that need occupy your womanly little head is how to please… and pleasure me, your master”.

Jasmine hated these games Jafar played with her. It was not enough that he had defeated her, he had to play this slow psychological torture. Of course she had also been physically tortured the more traditional, brutal way. But Jafar had ensured no actual harm could come to his beautiful property. Her physical torture couldn’t compare with what so many of her feminist sister-comrades had, and were still suffering.

Screw it she thought, if he wanted to hurt her, he would find an excuse anyway. Maybe this was part of the game where he wanted to bait out the Marxist-Feminist revolutionary, the Prime Minister. To feel her defiance, to not entirely extinguish her fire. That was the fun in it for him. What made her such a prize, not just some harem slave girl. It was a delicate balance playing his games. She relished the chances to speak up, to show some defiance. But she knew it was bait, walking into his traps everytime. Being the character he wanted as a slave. But what was the other option? To be meek, weak, loving and submissive to him? Would that show him?

“Jafar” she said in a voice that somehow mixed all her experiences of the past weeks, the weary exhaustion and the angry defiance.

 

“Jafar, all I know is that in this little war of yours, you are the winner and I’m the loser. I’m standing before you in chains and the underwear you picked out for me because it turns you on and lowers me. I’m just a helpless woman in her underpants. Not even my underpants. Even the lingerie I wear on my most private intimate parts are just a torture device. You can kill me, you can ravish me, you can parade me nude across the streets of Agrabah. I’m clearly no political threat to your regime anymore. What more do you want from me? If you just want to show you are in a physically more powerful position than me, you have won a thousand times over”.

Jasmine waited at the conclusion of her little outburst. With a mix of satisfaction and fear. She had gotten off her chest what she had to say. But now she was once again totally at the mercy of Jafar’s will. Her only escape from punishment being him being in a playful mood. A cat toying a mouse before devouring it.

“I wish for Prime Minister Jasmine to fall desperately in love with me”.

“Never!” She shouted in a fearful defiance. “I will never love you, no matter what you do to me. The more you hurt me, the more I will hate you to the core of my heart. You have done nothing but harm me and cause me pain. We women aren’t all the masochistic painsluts you think we are from you’re medieval magic guides; that probably think women have seven lungs, bleed green and have blue menstrual blood”.

Jafar chuckled. “It seems my superstitious science of the Dark Ages has vanquished all your modern Feminist theory”.

Jasmine was confused at exactly what Jafar wanted from her, which made her more frightened. In both an emotional and physical way she didn’t know where the next blow would strike. She was sure it would have to do with stripping her of any last remnants of her self-respect and dignity.

With a sudden change of tone Jafar purred “how about a movie pussycat? I had a special movie theater installed just for the two of us. Well and a hundred of your enslaved leftist feminist sisters who will be obediently in the hall with us. But you need not notice them, for they are now mere background decoration objects.”

 

“After all” Jafar said with a laugh, “there are 20 of your sisters in the room with us right now, and you have hardly taken notice of your half naked comrades”.

To Jasmine’s shame it was true. In her weeks of slavery she had learned to have conversations with Jafar like she was alone in the room with him, oblivious to 30 or 100 of her former sister-comrades standing at obedient attention, hands behind their heads, in nothing but their slave panties. Of course once Jafar mentioned it, it was impossible not to look and stare. The soft rise and fall heaving of their bare bosoms. Their perfect object-like still obedience, which is what Jafar had successfully reduced them to. Intelligent feminist women, her best friends, the silent observers to her every humiliation and compromise. It embarrassed her to notice but the elegant design, stitching and colorful schemes of their slave panties, their only garment also caught Jasmine’s attention. Of course it did not compare to the gold lining of her own red lingerie. But then they had even less to cover themselves with. 

“On your knees slave” Jafar barked cruelly 

Jasmine hesitated only to have Jafar swiftly knock her feet from under her with his snake staff. 

“Ugggh” Jasmine cried out as she fell to her knees and began the humiliating crawl to the perverted movie theater Jafar had installed in the palace. The proud revolutionary Prime Minister was forced to crawl like a dog on all 4s, as Jafar dragged her by her chained leash and collar. 

Finally they reached the movie theater, Jafar leading the collared crawling Jasmine. It was more of a command center than a theater. There was an extreme large movie projector screen. But then on the side walls was hundreds of TV-sized screens playing various scenes from Jasmine’s life. It was like a perverted biography on screen. The whole story of the Rise and Fall of Prime Minister Jasmine was told in those hundreds of screens. Time and space melted away. There was no past, present and future. Her whole life has a singularity at this moment. At this degrading debasing moment. In nothing but her bra and panties on a chain to Jafar. While the scenes of her sexual humiliation were very traumatic, in some ways being reminded of what she once was, was even more soul-crushing. Seeing herself in her proud baby blue and purple business suits making inspiring Feminist revolutionary speeches, raising the women of Agrabah into a new era. 

“wwwhat is all this for?” stuttered Jasmine in shock 

“Its your life pussycat” Jafar gloated “It pains me to see you reduced to his condition. I thought I would raise your spirits by reminding you of your triumphs”. 

“And some HD footage of me showering while Prime Minister” said Jasmine sarcastically. Meanwhile her mind was racing, the wheels spinning, trying to figure out how Jafar had all this intimate footage of her BEFORE she had come under his possession.

“There is a special beauty in seeing a strong powerful political woman, a woman turning power upside down in Agrabah bared underneath” chuckled Jafar sinisterly “but don’t worry my sweet, in your new form you will far exceed that old beauty, you will reach new peaks I promise”

“But how how did you get all this footage?” Jasmine asked, her mind racing. Her shock, her reminder of her old life had made her let her guard down. Something she had learned almost never to do in her weeks here. To be so vulnerable and stunned. Stupefied. To let Jafar know he had won a complete ambush over her. 

Just as her brain was racing towards a solution, doing the detective work narrowing down the only possible suspect, Jafar cut to the chase. 

“Hakim” he boasted with a cruel smile. 

Hakim! Of course! He was; had been, the head of Prime Minister Jasmine’s Palace security. Razoul, Fazahl, Hakim and Zagoolien had been her security team. The rats had went over to Jafar’s side and betrayed her. Judging by the shower scenes, it seemed like Hakim had been violating protocol privacy and decency long before the coup. Turning the Feminist Prime Minister into his private voyeuristic pornography. 

“I will make you submit to me Jasmine, and your own biography will make you do it. We can spend hours and hours here reviewing the rise and fall of the Jasmine Empire. Don’t you wish to recall the better days? And then you will kneel before me, as you already do, but you will learn to love it. I don’t even need to use any violence against you.” 

Rubbing her soar whipped behind, Jasmine begged to differ. 

“Those are but love spanks my dear” chortled Jafar 

Is that what he called them? It had been extremely painful. 

All the horrible things Jafar had done to her since her capture, it was not enough that he had done them. Now he wanted to do a play by play with her as his captive audience, gloating at his every win over her. And then he could contrast it with footage of her as Prime Minister in power. Both her public face, giving those rousing speeches in her smart pantsuits. And even the most private intimate details of her personal life in the palace. Every undressing and showering all in vivid high definition footage. 

“And not just your own life” crowed Jafar continuing “we can watch the past present and future of all your subversive feminist political prisoner friends”. 

Jasmine gasped at this taunt. It was bad enough to hurt her, but all her friends, her entire cause. She knew some of them, all of them, had gotten much harsher treatment than her. She was racked with guilt over their fates. She had lead them into this. They had trusted and followed her Cause. All their suffering was on her hands, they suffered for her. And now the sadistic Jafar would force her to watch all the suffering first hand. 

“Of course we need not watch only in movie, since their torment is happening as we speak, we will make many field trips down to the dungeons and observe and participate first hand” continued Jafar


	4. Jafar holds a Socratic dialogue with an enslaved lingerie-clad Prime Minister

Ex Prime Minster Jasmine counted her blessings. Jafar had not yet forced himself on her, ravished her, raped her. A fate worse than rape. It was hard to believe there was such a thing. But that was what the cruel sadistic Jafar wanted to impose on the now defeated Leftist Feminist leader. He hated her drive for economic and especially gender equality. And wanted to punish her in the most degrading possible way. To break and violate her very soul. There was so much vile hatred towards secular Leftist women during the revolutionary period of Agrabah. Now Jafar had the focus of all the vitriol, the leader of the whole movement in his grasp. All the impotent threats of 1000 misogynists could now be visited on her. 

He wanted her to fall desperately in love with him. 

Despite being a revolutionary Feminist, Jasmine still deep down had some girlish romantic feelings towards love. She didn’t feel it contradicted her feminism. It was a slander to say that feminism forbid love. She believed in the true tender love of equals. She was still a woman, and love had the same special place for her. To see something sacred perverted in such a cruel twisted way, shocked and horrified her. It was worse than the purely physical abuse. To make a woman feel love against her will. It was every misogynist’s fantasy. And now poor Jasmine was like a science experiment for the evil Jafar to test all the ways to break the spirit of a strong woman.   
If she did break, she wouldn’t be the first Leftist Feminist political prisoner to submit and fall in love with her captor. Yes, Jafar had gloated to Jasmine that several of her sister-comrades would soon be married to Jafari Junta guards. They had voluntarily consented Jafar said. 

Who could blame them under such circumstances? It was Stockholm syndrome or something worse. These women were so utterly helpless. Reduced to infantile dependence on their worst political enemies. Food, clothing, sleep, even going to the bathroom. It was disgusting, the Jafaris had forced Feminist political prisoner to use philosophical literature as toilet paper. 

Jasmine was awoken from her philosophical revelry by the cruel Jafar toying with her like a mouse with a cat. Sometimes it was mere bait. To get her to play the strong defiant revolutionary, to add to the humiliation of being spanked like a child or forced into even sexier revealing slave lingerie. But sometimes he really did just want to talk. This game was mental for him. And he had an almost a scientific curiosity on the psych level he had reduced the Feminist Prime Minister to. How close she was to breaking. 

Jasmine tried to fight back the tears in her eyes. 

“Why are you doing this to me? Why don’t you just execute me? As you’ve gloated endless times already, I’m no longer a political threat to you. Even if my followers out there, still think I’m a revolutionary hope, you know I’m just your plaything toy. You think you are a sophisticated man, but you are just thinking with your lust. If you just killed me, you’d kill all hope. But rather than bringing peace to Agrabah, even your harsh tyrannical peace, you have more fun keeping me in sexy underwear. Why don’t you just oogle a Victoria’s Secret catalog” she concluded bitterly 

“You accuse me of hypocrisy, of betraying my cause, the cause you hate so much. My dear half naked Jasmine. But listen to your own words. If you think being ‘disappeared’ keeps the flame of hope alive for your cause, why would you beg for death? Just to escape the indignity of being my personal Victoria’s Secret model?” Jafar purred 

“I’m sure your evil plan will both make me an object of your lustful pleasure and use me to destroy my cause”  
Jafar dragged Jasmine by her chains to the large comfortable harem couches. Where they could watch on the big screen, scenes of Agrabah’s past and present. Her entire life in the palace as Prime Minister. As well as all the footage of her sister-comrades, government leaders, activists, political prisoners being sexually tortured by the guards in the present. It was a God eye’s view of the hell Jafar had imposed on her republic. 

“I would have married you, if only you had promised to stop torturing your political prisoners and would amnesty them” Jasmine gulped. 

“I know” Jafar said nonchalantly, “but a man does not make a deal with a woman, nor a master with his slave. You will lustfully kiss me, while I go on abusing and tormenting every foolish cunt who ever thought you could be a leader of a country. You make a much much better harem slave. Slave lingerie for misogynyist pleasure, serves you much better than Prime Minister pantsuits” Jafar gloated. 

“What does any of this prove?” Jasmine asked bitterly “that armed men with guns have the power to do whatever they want to helpless defenseless women? This has nothing to do with true feminine nature, or whatever perverted point you want to make”. 

“What about the sounds they make?” quipped Jafar 

Sounds. Jasmine flashbacked to the first days after the Jafari coup. When they had rounded up all the leftist leaders and activist women in the country. A crowd of 100 of them, including Jasmine herself had been in a large gym. They had been forced to...to.. to pleasure themselves, in front of all the leering mocking guards. Some women had resisted at first. But the guards circled among them with riding crops. When she had heard the moans from leftist feminist women political prisoners begin. Jasmine had felt the most profound despair of her entire captivity so far. While Jasmine had been protected from rape so far, marked out as Jafar’s personal property. He had forced her to be present at the decisive moments of mentally and sexually breaking the leftist women of Agrabah. They were not so lucky to have any protection. 

Those sounds. Humiliating forced pleasure. Women’s own hands forcing a pleasure that burns upon their own bodies. At first it might have been hard to feel pleasure in such circumstances. But once a few sister-comrades moaned. And then the whole gym. A cacophony the waves of forced pleasure. The macabre scene in itself had added to the sick pleasure. 

Jasmine felt sickened and so weak as she recalled that scene. Jafar was pure evil. There was no morality or justification for this perverted abuse of helpless defeated women. She wished for the strength to slap him, to hurt him. It was so unfair that he was the one safe in his elegant robes, while she was at his mercy in ridiculously sexy lingerie. 

There had been so much hope and idealism during her reign, during the peaceful democratic socialist revolution in Agrabah. Her egalitarian reforms uplifting both men and women. Her radical egalitarian followers had dreamed of a new world, of power structures turned upside down, the world turned upside down. Now they were hanging upside down in lingerie while Jafari guards whipped them.   
While she didn’t think of leftist feminist women fighting for radical equality as sinners, if Dante’s Inferno were to design the perfect punishment to fit the sin, Jasmine had to admit that Jafar had crafted the perfect hell for radical women.


End file.
